The Baron Finds Happiness (Fairy Tales Across Time Book 3)

by Bess McBride

  “I think I understand,” he said in a low voice. He leaned near. “Miss Whitehead is difficult to tolerate. She has quite clearly set her cap on Lord Rowe, and I wish her the best. I remembered a happier boy, but he seems quite repressed now, a very stuffy sort.”

  Clara had not had the privilege of seeing Roger as a happy child, and she agreed with Lord Carswell that he was stuffy, but she felt compelled to defend him.

  “Oh, no! Not stuffy!”

  “You disagree with my characterization?” Lord Carswell asked with an amused smile. “Perhaps arrogant might have been a better word.”

  “I could not help but eavesdrop,” Mary said, turning toward them. “Roger Phelps is anything but arrogant. He is the kindest man. He is...at present...in a very difficult situation, and it’s affecting him. But he’s definitely not arrogant.”

  Lord Carswell inclined his head. “I was not aware. Forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive,” Mary said. “As you said, you haven’t seen him since he was a boy, and Clara hardly knows him at all.”

  Clara colored. She didn’t think Mary was criticizing her, but she felt ashamed nonetheless. Roger had been under a great deal of pressure since she’d arrived. She had no idea what he was really like. Maybe as Mary said, he was the kindest man.

  The host and hostess, a plump smiling couple, drifted by at that moment.

  “Lady St. John, Lady Halwell, you do not dance this evening?” Lady Fairchild called out.

  “I twisted my foot just a bit this afternoon,” Mary said.

  “And I hurt my back last week and am resting it,” Rachel said.

  Clara hadn’t seen evidence of either woman having an injury, and she wondered if they just hadn’t learned the dances yet.

  “Oh, that is too bad,” Lady Fairchild said. “Lord Carswell, do take Miss Bell out to the dance floor.” Thankfully, she waved a gloved hand and let her husband lead her away.

  “I did ask,” Lord Carswell said to the group in general, still smiling, “but Miss Bell stated she does not know the dances.”

  “We are a fine group,” Halwell said with a charming laugh. “Out to a ball and none of us dancing. I do not mind at all!”

  Clara noted he brushed his wife’s hand with his own, and she leaned into him. She wondered briefly what it was like to love like that, to lean against someone and know that all was right with the world—which seemed obvious by the radiant expression on Rachel’s face.

  She heard Lady Whitehead’s voice long before she neared them. Looking over her shoulder, Clara saw Roger and Penelope alongside her. Penelope’s hand was tucked into Roger’s arm.

  “But I insist! You simply must dance. Lord Rowe, it is too bad of you to refuse to take my poor daughter onto the floor.” Lady Whitehead laughed, one of those steely “I’m getting my way” laughs.

  “I would oblige had I been schooled in dancing, Lady Whitehead, but I was not. I was raised to manage estates, not to—” Roger stopped short. “Please accept my apologies. I imagine there are many young men who would delight in accompanying Miss Whitehead onto the dance floor.”

  “But I do not wish to dance with any of them, Lord Rowe!” Penelope said. “Will you not try?”

  “Yes, do try, Lord Rowe,” Lady Whitehead pressed. “The worst that can happen is that you confuse the other dancers.”

  Clara looked at the sympathetic expressions on St. John, Halwell and even Lord Carswell, but they said nothing. Even outspoken Mary and Rachel remained silent.

  “Lady Whitehead, Penelope, Lord Rowe really looks terrified at the thought of dancing in public tonight. What if he were to take some lessons and then dance with you?”

  Clara heard the words coming out of her mouth and couldn’t stop them. All eyes turned on her.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Bell,” Lady Whitehead said in a sarcastic voice. “I was not aware that you were Lord Rowe’s keeper.”

  “Lady Whitehead, really!” Roger protested weakly. “I think she only meant to save me from humiliation. Her idea is sensible.”

  “Lady Whitehead,” St. John said. “Miss Bell is our guest. She meant no harm. I believe that Lord Rowe was on the point of leaving. I have some matters to which he must attend tonight. Therefore, regretfully, he cannot dance.”

  “Yes, matters,” Roger mumbled. He bowed before everyone and hurried away.

  “Mother, now look at what you have done!” Penelope pouted. She swung away in a huff and stalked off to join a group of young bachelors nearby.

  Lady Whitehead stalked off in another direction.

  “If Roger is taking the carriage back, I’d like to head back as well,” Clara whispered in Mary’s ear. “I take it he’ll send the carriage back for you guys?”

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s what he’ll do. Okay, I’ll let you go. This has been a miserable night. I’d love to leave too, but St. John is a very important person to these people, and he should stay. To leave early would humiliate Lady Fairchild.” She gave Clara a push. “Hurry! Go catch him!”

  Mary turned to Lord Carswell and engaged him in conversation such that he couldn’t stop Clara from hurrying off toward the front door. She ran down the front steps and caught Roger just as he climbed aboard the waiting coach. Had she not seen him, she didn’t think she would have recognized the coach. There were a ton of them milling about the drive.

  “Wait! Roger! I’m going back to the castle!”

  Roger looked out the window and said something to the coachmen. He descended from the coach and held out his hand to Clara as she climbed aboard.

  She pushed herself into one corner of the carriage and pulled her shawl tightly about her...more for security than any chill. Roger took the bench opposite.

  “Thank you!” she said. “For waiting. I told Mary I wanted to leave, and she told me to catch you. That’s about all I can do for one Regency ball. That whole dancing thing. I mean, it looks like Mary can’t dance, and Rachel can’t dance. I can’t dance. You can’t dance! What were we all doing there?”

  Clara realized she was rattling but couldn’t seem to stop. The carriage started forward, and she stared out the window, avoiding Roger’s gaze.

  “I only went because Mary thought I should. I never wanted to go...at all! I’m not into this historical stuff, not into the costumes...or clothing, I guess you would call it. My friend and partner, Janie, is though. I don’t know why Hickstrom didn’t pick her. You would like her. She’s pretty and cute and smart and a hard worker. Yeah, much better than Miss Penelope Whitehead. Oh, and that mother of hers. Don’t get me started!”

  Clara paused for air.

  “I know that Hickstrom is doing this, that she’s the reason Penelope is all over you. Well, no, I’m sure she’s all over you because she wants to be, right? I mean, you’re an attractive man, Roger—don’t get me wrong. So it could be that. But it’s not like you have a choice. Or maybe you do have a choice. We don’t know, do we? We don’t know what Hickstrom is capable of. A little bit. We know a little bit about what she can do. Time travel. She can do that.”

  She dragged in another gulp.

  “So what do you think of Miss Penelope Whitehead anyway? Do you think that might work out? You didn’t seem as turned off to her as I thought you might be.”

  Clara stopped and looked at Roger.

  “Are you quite finished, Miss Bell? Turned off? I do not even know what that means.”

  “Turned off?” Clara repeated foolishly. “Put off? Not into? Not attracted to?”

  Roger laughed, a lovely warm sound that curled Clara’s toes...in a good way. She realized it was the first time she had heard him laugh. She basked at her achievement.

  “Are you asking me if I am attracted to Miss Whitehead?” He continued to chuckle. He shook his head. “I am not. I thought I made that clear. But I am dismayed to hear that you are offering up yet one more lady for my consideration. Your friend Janie? I think my hands are full at present, would you not agree?”

  “You’d like
Janie,” Clara said feebly.

  “I am certain that I would if she is a friend of yours. But perhaps the most pressing matter at the moment is...who is available to teach us to dance? You do not know how. I do not know how. We should learn together.”

  “Me?” Clara giggled, taken aback by the change in topic. “I’m leaving, remember?”

  “But you have committed me to learning to dance. I require a partner, and that must be you...who have committed me to learning to dance.”

  “Oh, all right!” Clara acquiesced, still enjoying Roger’s teasing smile. She would have done anything to keep that expression on his face.

  “Excellent!” he said. “I shall make inquiries for a dancing master in the village tomorrow.”

  “Well, maybe I have time to help you learn a couple of dances,” Clara said. “You might want to ask Mary and Rachel if they want to join. You could probably practice with them after I leave.”

  Roger’s smile faded, and he turned to look out the window.

  “What is it?” Clara said. “Did that remind you of Hickstrom’s prophecy...curse...thing? Whatever she calls it? That you will have to marry Penelope? Surely you don’t have to if you don’t want to, right?”

  Roger kept his face turned toward the window, though the night was dark and there was little to see.

  “Your skepticism regarding Miss Hickstrom’s powers is naïve, Miss Bell. There are many who have already assured you that she can do as she pleases, can bend others to her will, can exert inexplicable forces that are unyielding. I have witnessed such. Lived with the consequences for over two years when St. John was incarcerated on his estate. I have no choice. If Miss Hickstrom has set her sights on me, I have no choice but to comply with her wishes.”

  Clara drew in a deep breath. She wanted to take Roger’s hand, to reassure him that he wouldn’t have to marry Penelope if he didn’t want. That was...if he really didn’t want to. She couldn’t forget how he had allowed Penelope to paw him.

  She wanted to reach across the carriage and touch him. Instead, she spoke. “All right. I believe you. I’ll marry you to keep you from marrying Penelope.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “All right. I believe you. I’ll marry you to keep you from marrying Penelope.”

  Roger heard Miss Bell gasp and thought his ears deceived him. She pressed back into the corner of the carriage, a gloved hand covering her lips, her eyes wide with surprise. Yet it was her voice he had heard.

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

  She drew in another sharp breath and lowered her hand only slightly, to the tip of her chin...almost as if she wished to clamp it over her mouth once again.

  “I said I believe you and that I’ll marry you to keep you from marrying Penelope. From having to marry Penelope if you don’t want.”

  Roger could not think of any rational comment. He continued to stare at her.

  “But here’s my plan!” she continued. “I’ll marry you, and then Hickstrom can go away, and then I’ll go home. The marriage won’t be valid because I won’t be alive...yet. What do you think about that?” She giggled, not with humor but almost hysterically. “I just thought of the plan right now. I mean...it just came to me!”

  The weight pressing on his chest over the past few days did not lighten at the inventive scheme, but felt heavier. Yet he wondered why. A beautiful young woman had offered to marry him to save him from a fate he could not contemplate, yet had promised to leave him alone to his bachelorhood when she returned to her own time. The plan held merit, was perfect, in fact. Why then did he struggle to breathe?

  “Roger?” she prompted. “What do you think?”

  He knew he must speak. She offered much, and his behavior appalled him. Yet he could not find words.

  “Please,” he said.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I—” Again, he failed to express himself.

  “Did you say please? Was that a yes?”

  Roger had not thought he meant to say yes. He wondered himself what he had meant by “please.” Please, yes, marry me and save me from a fate worse than death. Or perhaps Please do not leave.

  He drew in a deep, steadying breath.

  “Yes, please marry me.”

  Miss Bell’s lips curved into a tentative smile. “And save you from a fate worse than death.”

  It was as if she read his mind, or a portion of it.

  “Yes, please.”

  To his surprise, Miss Bell rose and crossed the carriage. Given the sway, she lost her balance, and she fell onto the bench next to him. He reached out to steady her, and she took his hand.

  “It’s going to be all right, Roger.”

  He looked down at their conjoined gloved hands. “Yes, I believe it will be. I am in your debt, Miss Bell.”

  “I think you probably oughta call me Clara at this point.”

  “Clara,” he said, a husky catch in his throat.

  “Yes,” she said. “So how do you think we should do this? We have to do it pretty quick because I’ll have to convince Hickstrom to send me back for something. I know she can. I’ll just tell her that I have to clear up my business and turn it over to Janie, but I’m sure she won’t send me back if we’re not already married, right?”

  “She agreed to send you back to the twenty-first century in two weeks if you did not wish to marry me. It is possible, Clara, that she will refuse to send you back once we are wed. Neither Mary nor Rachel have attempted to return, nor do I believe they discussed the possibility with Miss Hickstrom.”

  “But if we’re married, she gets what she wants, right?”

  Roger chewed on his lower lip. “I believe her goal was love, Clara, not marriage per se. She wishes both you and I to marry for love. We may have to convince her that we have formed an attachment to each other.” Roger felt a twitch of her small fingers in his hand.

  Clara did not immediately respond, and Roger’s heart dropped. Would she withdraw her offer?

  “So if we convince her that we are marrying for love, do you think she’ll let me go back?”

  “You would have to discuss that with her before we marry.”

  “We would have to discuss that with her before we marry.”

  “We,” he repeated.

  “Because she’ll know I’m lying if I try to tell her myself.”

  Roger suppressed a sharp intake of air and gently let go of Clara’s hand.

  “Of course,” he said dully. The elation and despair of the past few moments served as a reminder that love was a complicated, tedious matter to which he did not aspire.

  “Roger,” Clara said softly. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  “No, of course not. You and I shall never fall in love.”

  “Well, goodness! That sounds harsh!”

  “I did not mean to be insensitive,” Roger said, although in truth, he rather thought he had meant to be cruel. To his shame, Clara apologized.

  “Oh, sorry! I thought you were saying that to hurt my feelings. Of course we won’t,” she said. “I agree. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Touché,” Roger said quietly.

  “What do you mean by that?” Clara asked.

  “Simply that you are capable of wounding as much as I in a fit of pique. I must apologize. My words were meant to wound you, and I believe your words were meant to injure me.”

  Roger’s heart lifted as he felt Clara’s hand slip into his again.

  “Yes,” she said simply. “Let’s not do that anymore.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Do you want to call out to Hickstrom tonight?”

  “Perhaps we should wait until morning.” If Miss Hickstrom refused the bargain, refused to allow Clara to return home once they married, then he would lose Clara forever. She would vanish into the twenty-first century.

  Roger wished he could speak his thoughts, but he could not.

  “Okay,” Clara said agreeably. “First thing in the morning though. I don’t know wh
at it takes to get married here. Hopefully, no ID.”

  “ID?”

  “Identification? We have to have a card with our picture on it to get anything done.”

  “Ah! Picture. I do believe Mary described such a thing.”

  Clara nodded. “With a camera.”

  “We must post the banns. That will require fifteen days. We can be married on the sixteenth day. I understand that is two days over your two-week period, but that would be the earliest we could marry. Unless we elope to Gretna Green, of course.”

  “Gretna Green?”

  “Scotland. They have different laws there.”

  “How far is that?”

  “I think about four days by coach. I have never been there. But we cannot elope. I spoke only in jest. I cannot imagine that St. John would agree to such a thing. Your reputation would be damaged.”

  “My reputation?” Clara said with a laugh. “Do I have one?”

  “You will if we elope to Gretna Green.”

  “Okay, so we get married in sixteen days?”

  “I think that can be arranged.”

  “And you understand that if I go home, you can marry again if you want. Anyone you want. It won’t be polygamy because I won’t have been born yet. I want to be clear about that, Roger.”

  “I cannot imagine that I would wish to marry again.” He thought to retort that he had no wish to marry at all, but that was no longer quite true, and further, they had agreed to stop insulting each other.

  “I hope that you do,” she said softly. “You know, have kids and stuff.”

  Roger thought he should wish the same for Clara, but he did not wish her to remarry, not at all. He could not say so. Thankfully, the carriage slowed. He looked out the window.

  “I will see you to the castle and return to the gatehouse. I must send the carriage back for St. John and Mary.”

  “Are we back already?” Clara asked. Her hand tightened on his.

  “Yes.” Roger hoped that he kept the regret he felt from his voice. He savored the sensation of her hand within his as the carriage moved inexorably toward the castle. All too soon, the horses stopped, and one of the coachmen descended to open the door. Roger led Clara from the coach and escorted her up the stairs to where Will, the footman, awaited them.